One Step Closer Away
by Angel of Fate
Summary: Woody and Jordan can just never seem to get together. And now with 'The Boston Slash and Dash' killer, they have even more to deal with than each other. (WJ)
1. Promising Oceans

Title: One Step Closer Away

Author: Angel of Fate

Summary: Woody and Jordan are always just one step closer away. (Woody/Jordan)

Rated: PG13 for now.

Disclaimer: If I owned either _Crossing Jordan_, any of its characters or NBC I'd be a very rich woman. Alas I don't and I'm quite broke. Also, any quotes that appear at the beginning of the chapter (as well as this story's title) belong to _The Tea Party_, not moi. _In accordence to site rules, all lyrics have since been removed from the beginning of the chapters. frowny face_

AN: This is my first _Crossing Jordan _fic, so any constructive criticism is appreciated! Thanks so much, and enjoy!

Jordan Cavanaugh lay awake in her bed, the sheets tangled around her legs. The room was dark, but she could still see the faint shadows dance upon the walls, little puppets of the moonlight that played only at night. She exhaled a shaky breath and forced her eyes shut, but it was no use. Every time she closed her eyes, his face could be seen beneath her lids. A vivid image that crept passed her lashes and wouldn't go away.

She thought about running. About throwing all her belongings in a bag, hopping in her car and driving for miles. Maybe to New York or Chicago, some big city just like Boston that would swallow her up whole and she could go unnoticed. But Jordan knew from experience that running rarely solved anything and when she got back she'd be in an even bigger mess than when she left. It always seemed to work out that way, as irritating as it was. She supposed it was one of life's many cruel jokes.

Like its current devious plan.

Her head began to throb, and she couldn't tell if it was from lack of sleep or the thoughts that kept pounding away at her brain. Probably both. She flailed about, kicking away the sheets that encompassed her and grabbing a pillow she flung it over her face. This served two purposes, it muffled the frustrated scream that she had just let out and it also blocked what little light that had entered the room when the lacy curtains had blown far from the window they were supposed to be covering. But it was no use. As soon as Jordan was in complete darkness again, she could make out his smile.

He had the most fantastic smile. His lips would curve up just slightly in a crooked grin, before his face would stretch out wide. And that's when you could see the small dimples that lay nestled in his cheeks. Cheeks that Jordan assumed once belonged to a chubby little boy and there was more than one occasion that she wanted to reach out and pinch them. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. Intensely blue, just like the ocean.

Jordan pushed the pillow from her face.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she shouted in a whisper. She, Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh, should not be thinking about him in this way. Or anyway for that matter. Unless it was work related. And this was far from work related. As a certified medical examiner she was sure there was some rule that forbid her from picturing him with only—"Stop it Jordan!" she scolded herself.

She once again closed her eyes, desperate for some sleep. This time, instead of her own nagging thoughts keeping her awake, the phone gave out a shrill ring. Jordan quickly glanced at the digital alarm clock, confirming that it was indeed an ungodly hour in the night (or morning depending how you looked at it) for anyone to be calling. She tumbled out of bed, fumbled for the light switch and picked up the phone on its fourth ring.

"Cavanaugh," she answered into the receiver, in a groggy voice she didn't know that you could have if didn't get any actual sleep.

"Hey," was the simple greeting from the other end. And it was him, not coincidentally. Detective Woodrow Hoyt, waking her up this early. Or would have been if she were sleeping. The nerve.

"Woody," Jordan stated, soon followed by, "do you know what time it is?"

"Yeah, sorry about that Jordan," Woody frowned, looking at his watch. "I just really needed to talk to you."

"Oh?" she questioned. "Now?"

"Well, yes. I guess it could wait…" there was a long, uneasy pause. "I couldn't sleep, there's this really tough case I've been working on. Occupying all my thoughts, you know?"

"Oh yeah," Jordan let out a sigh. She knew how it was to have something pick at you, taunting you every step of the way. When she had something on her mind it would crawl and creep around in her head, shoving anything and everything onto the back burner.

"Listen, I know it's late—early or whatever—but I just can't get this off my mind," Woody said.

"Why don't you come over?" she suggested. "I wasn't getting much shut-eye myself. I'm thinking company might not be such a bad thing at the moment."

"You can't sleep?" Woody's voice immediately turned concerned, making Jordan smile and shake her head.

"It's nothing Woody," she assured. "Just come over to my place in about twenty or so."

"Thanks Jordan," he said, preparing to hang up the phone.

"Oh, and Woody," Jordan began before he could, "bring coffee."

Woody showed up in front of her loft style apartment in exactly twenty minutes, bearing not only coffee, but doughnuts as well. He smirked as he tried to think of what 'cop and doughnut' joke that Jordan would spring on him. He bet himself five dollars that it would be something along the lines of "bad cop, no doughnut". Although Woody figured it was somewhat senseless to make a bet with himself; he knew he would get some pleasure out the victory if he did win.

He jogged up the stairs, feeling the need to get his aching muscles working, something that the elevator just wouldn't do for him. He was a bit out of breath when he reached Jordan's door, and he thumped his head against the hard wood. Jordan heard the bang and swung open the door, causing Woody to stumble into her apartment.

"Always been one for a grand entrance, haven't you Woody?" Jordan quipped.

"Well, I was Miss Teen Wisconsin," he remarked.

"Impressive," she nodded.

"Mom thought so," Woody added as an afterthought.

Woody walked over to the counter and began unloading the doughnuts and coffee from the brown paper bag he held in his left hand. Jordan hopped up on the barstool, eagerly swiping at the large Styrofoam cup. As she leaned forward to grab the stack of files that Woody had also dumped on the counter, her housecoat fell open. Woody resisted the urge to stare. He had to admit it was hard not to. She was so beautiful. Long brown hair, many shades darker than his own, so much so it was almost black, that fell in heavy waves. And she had these horribly serious golden eyes that could make almost any man tremble. Well they made him tremble anyway. He hadn't let her know when he had called her, but she was also part of the reason that he couldn't sleep.

Jordan hadn't bother getting dressed, sighting that it was too much trouble if she would just have to do it later in the morning anyway. Instead she sat still in her pajamas, flannel plaid boxer shorts and an old tank top. She threw the housecoat overtop because she had been cold. It was a ratty old thing that had once belonged to her father, and when he had finally given up on it and was about to throw it out, Jordan rescued it. It was an ugly shade of blue, there was a hole underneath the right armpit and one of the belt loops was torn, making it near impossible to keep the darn thing closed. She remembered this and began to pull it together when she noticed Woody's gaze.

"What, never seen a woman before Woodrow?" she arched an eyebrow and Woody averted his eyes. "You know what they say, 'Bad detective, no doughnut'," she laughed and so did Woody. Five bucks.

Jordan thumbed through the file that rested on the top of the pile. Skimming over the contents. Digesting the photos.

"So, what gives?" she asked, now in reference to the case that had Woody so troubled.

"This guy is impossible to catch Jordan," Woody took a seat beside her. "Clean as a whistle, leaves no evidence behind. Just a quick slice to the throat, with a kitchen knife that belongs to the victim. No sign of forced entry, no trail. Nothing."

"How many were they?" Jordan grabbed another file, this one belonging to a Jillian Clare.

"Seven so far," he murmured. "There doesn't seem to be any apparent relation between the vics either. But it can't be random…"

"Why not?" she questioned.

"What are you saying?"

"Well, what if it is random? What if it's killing for the sake of killing?"

"Jordan," Woody all but rolled his eyes. "There's always a reason for something."

"If that's so…than what's his?" Jordan scanned the documents briefly.

It was three hours later and the sun had began to rise, encasing Jordan's apartment in a rosy glow. Jordan and Woody had since moved to the sofa, papers and document strewn over the table, floor and chair. Woody rested his back to the armrest, leafing through some papers, Jordan sat beside him their legs almost tangled together. Jordan stifled what seemed like her fourteenth yawn in the past two minutes. Woody looked over at her, her nose buried in a bunch of newspaper clipping from the case, and gave a faint smile.

"What do you say I pack all this up and head on out. We haven't been able to make heads or tails of it all night anyway," Woody sighed.

"C'mon Woody, where's your dr-ive?" Jordan asked, but was interrupted by yet another yawn.

"Apparently somewhere with yours," he chuckled and began to gather up his things. "So, you never did tell me why _you_ couldn't sleep Jordan."

She shrugged, and flashed him a quick grin.

"Oh, so it's going to be that way, huh?" Woody winked.

"You're the detective, figure it out," Jordan challenged slyly.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah," she repeated.

Before Jordan had time to think, Woody had lunged for her, pulling her down onto the sofa with him. Jordan tried to wriggle free of his grasp, but he kept a tight hold on her. His fingers dug into her sides, tickling her mercilessly. She bit back a very un-Jordan like giggle, but he wouldn't give, so she had too. When she let out a very Jordan like snort, it was Woody's turn to stop and laugh. But as he stopped they realized their situation. And boy was it a sticky one. Jordan lay under Woody, the strap of her shirt had fallen loosely on her shoulder, Woody's knee was wedged between hers, her left arm draped across his back, his hands on her waist. Very sticky.

It took no more than a moment for Woody's lips to crash down upon hers. And with that came the memories of their first kiss in LA. A kiss that shouldn't have happened in the first place, and a kiss that certainly didn't need a follow up "for the road" kiss. But here they were again, after only one sleepless night. And it seemed so right and so wrong at the same time.

"Woody stop," Jordan commanded, pushing him off her, her palms pressing hard into his shoulders.

"Jordan…I…" Woody couldn't form the words.

"Forget it Woody," she replied, sweeping her hair from her face.

"No. Damn it Jordan, no!" Woody leapt to his feet. "We can't keep doing this!"

"Doing what?" Jordan asked in a somewhat innocent manner, but it was the horribly serious eyes that betrayed her.

"You know what," he said. "What are we? Are we friends Jordan?"

"Sure we are Woody," she pressed her hand together, willing them to stop shaking. Amazing how fast a sticky situation could turn even stickier.

"Well, then what the hell are we doing?"

"Woody, it was nothing," Jordan argued.

"That's it Jordan," Woody continued at the confused look on her face, "I don't want it to be nothing. I want it to be something."

"Oh Woody," Jordan could feel the panic rise up in her throat. Or was it bile? "That wouldn't be a good idea. You know that. We'd just end up hurting each other."

"And we're not hurting each other this way?"

"No! No, I'll end up hurting you! Is that what you want to hear? That I can't love you?" Jordan didn't yell, but there was a frightening edge to her voice.

"What if I could promise you that wouldn't happen Jordan?" Woody stated softly, his hands grabbed for hers.

"No one can promise something like that Woody," she shook her head sadly. And what she said was true, no matter how much she wanted to believe him.

The incessant ringing of Woody's phone cut through their thoughts. Phones always have a keen sense of impeccable timing.

Woody rummaged in the pockets of his coat and retrieved his cell phone. Flipping it open he answered with a gruff, "Hoyt."

"Woody, it's Winslow," he heard.

"Not a great time Eddie," Woody told him, exasperated.

"The hell it isn't! Get your ass down here," Woody heard nothing else but a loud, irritated click.

Closing his phone shut, Woody turned to Jordan, whose hands were once again folded tightly together.

"Look, I have to go…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, sure," she responded.

"Jordan we need to finish this," Woody declared.

"Woody—" Jordan started, but he cut her off.

"Jordan, I _can _promise you. You just have to let me," Woody's lips quirked in a half smile before he pressed them into her hair and exited her apartment.


	2. The One

Disclaimer: This is just a bit of a follow up disclaimer to say that for about twenty minutes I _did _own _Crossing Jordan_, but I don't anymore. Therefore, the show, the characters, all the other junk, doesn't belong to me.

AN: Well, this here is the second chapter. I'm a little unsure of it, but I thought "What the heck?" and went and posted it anyway. Thanks for all the kind reviews on the first chapter!

traceyh- Yes, there will be a few darker parts, and while I could make this all angst ridden I think it's always nice to have a few little bits of 'lightheartedness'.

E & britt- Thanks for the kind words! Muah!

Jez1- Glad you thought that the characterization was well done, because I was a bit worried about that.

jtbwriter- I actually don't think Jordan knows what she needs! But like you said, in this story Woody is definitely going to try.

Enough of all that! Onto the story, enjoy!

AN2: I've uploaded a slightly revised version of chapter 2. (And by slightly, I mean exactly one sentence is changed). This is only because after going over the chapters I realized that that one sentence in chapter 2 contradicted something from chapter 1. No biggie, just needed to fix it is all. : )

Jordan tried to rid her mind of what happened between her and Woody this morning, but it was proving harder than she thought. The sounds of the morgue kept intruding. Two uniformed cops stood outside the door engaged in a loud shouting match with DA Walcott and Garret. And somewhere down the hall she could hear a woman wailing loudly. It was going to be one of those days. She rested her forehead in her cradled hands, playing the old game of 'if I can't see you, you can't see me'.

"Jordan, Autopsy B," Dr. Macy barked at her. Apparently, Garret didn't know the rules of the game. He should really learn to play along.

"Sure thing Garret," she mumbled, barely lifting her eyes, let alone her head.

"Something wrong Jordan?" he asked.

"No. Nothing that should matter anyway," Jordan feigned a smile.

"Great," Garret returned with a smile just as fake. "Then you should have no problem heading over to Autopsy B. _Now_."

"Of course not," she stood and plucked the folder out of his grip.

"But on the off chance that there is something wrong Jordan," he began. "You know my door is always open."

"Thanks Garret, really appreciate it," this time the smile resembled something slightly less plastic. Garret's lips twitched as if he wanted to say something. (Probably along the lines of 'Jordan, Autopsy B.'—Garret was so straightforward.) He twitched again. "I know, I know. Autopsy B," Jordan placed her hands up in mock surrender as she raced off

Still in her scrubs, Jordan entered her office, pulled off the standard latex gloves and flopped down into the comfortable chair. She yanked her long hair free of the tight elastic band that held it in place and threw it down on the desk. She resisted the urge to scream and settled for a pathetic groan instead. It had been one hell of day. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of bodies coming into the morgue, and it was hard to catch up. Add to the fact that Garret was making quite sure that everyone not only caught up, but also stayed one step ahead. Sleep deprived and irritable, Jordan just wanted to go home.

"Tough day, huh, love?"

Jordan looked up to see Nigel standing in the doorway; his lanky frame leaning half against the wall. He, too, was still in his scrubs and his grin had a faded quality of somebody who worked too hard.

"I've had worse," she admitted. "Although this ranks pretty close to the top."

"Tell me about it," Nigel agreed, taking a seat in front of her and propping his long legs up on the desk.

"Please say that Garret has ended his rampage and we can all go home," Jordan kidded.

"I think it may be safe pet," Nigel winked. "What do say to a celebratory end of the day drink?"

"Not tonight Nige," she groaned again. "Right now, all I want is my bed and some sleep."

"Didn't rest well last night Jordan?" he leaned forward.

"Try not at all," as if on cue, Jordan yawned to prove her point.

"And what kept you tossing and turning love?" Nigel wiggled his eyebrows.

"Nothing in particular," she lied. Nigel gave slight nod with his head, in a manner that suggested he knew that Jordan was holding back. "Really it was nothing Nige."

"C'mon, tell Uncle Nigel all about your problems," he said with another wag of his brows.

"Just couldn't sleep is all," Jordan returned. "And then Woody phoned—"

"Oh, so does young Woodrow play a part in this little melodrama that is the life of Dr. Cavanaugh?" Nigel cut in.

"No, he doesn't," she heaved a sigh to mask the crack in her voice. "He's been having a rough time with a case he's working on."

"The Boston Slash and Dash Killer?" he asked.

"Oh, is that what they're calling this sicko?"

"It was all over the papers this morning," Nigel shrugged. "Some rookie reporter got a hold of some inside information. It was all there in black and white print, photos, every detail."

"Great, that's just what this city needs. A how to on being a multiple murderer," Jordan scoffed.

"Nigel," Garret's head popped through the door. "I need you to go over some of these prelims with me. Walcott is all over my ass I need to get them in order for tomorrow."

"Get out while you can love," Nigel whispered to Jordan.

"What was that Nige?" Garret questioned.

"Right behind you boss," Nigel put on a weak grin and followed Garret to his office.

Jordan decided to heed Nigel's advice and book it before Garret found some arbitrary task for her as well. The last thing she needed was to spend a night at the morgue going over decade old files and end up crashing on the couch. Although, sadly that sounded like most of Jordan's Friday nights.

As she walked to her SUV (thankfully unnoticed by Garret), her cell phone let out a sharp ring. Wincing at the thought of who it might be, she hesitantly answered.

"Cavanaugh."

"Jordan, it's Woody. You got a minute?" he said in a rush.

"Several at the moment, I'm just on my way home," she told him as she climbed in the automobile. "You still at work?"

"This case is seriously busting my balls Jordan," Woody moaned.

"Lovely image as that is, why'd you call?"

"I think I can get off here in few minutes or so, and I was hoping I could swing by your place. Finish what we talking about this morning," he explained.

"Uh…sure," Jordan bit her lip as she semi-choked the answer out.

"Great, see you in a—"

Woody stopped and Jordan could hear someone angrily yell out "Hoyt!"

"Little while," he finished with a tired sigh.

Woody arrived at Jordan's apartment nearly an hour later. Eddie had quite a funny concept of time, apparently five to ten minutes equals around sixty of them instead. He knocked on the door, trying not to pound all his frustrations into it. His now sore fist and Jordan opening the door with a panicked look suggested he did otherwise.

"Sorry," Woody immediately apologized, stepping inside. He gently rubbed his knuckles.

"No problem," she said, shutting the door behind her.

Woody loosened his tie. It was beginning to feel like a noose, although after the day he'd had he was thinking that death by asphyxiation might not be a bad way to go. As he made his way to Jordan's sofa he also flipped open the top button of his shirt. Jordan, he had noticed, was wearing an old pair of sweats and a T-shirt. She sat down beside him, handing him a beer.

"Looks like you could use this," Jordan told him.

"What about you?" he gave a quick jerk of his head in her direction while taking a long swig of the beverage.

"Trying to cut back," she smirked.

"You already had one?" Woody guessed.

"Several," Jordan answered. "So, any major breakthroughs on that case that I should be updated on?"

"I wish. If anything, I'd say things have gotten worse."

"I heard about the information being leaked to the press," Jordan gave an uneasy frown.

"Yeah," Woody shook his head and took another sip of his beer. "As if it's not hard enough to try and catch this bastard. Now it's plastered on the front page of every Boston newspaper, the six o'clock news. Everywhere. We've been very careful about what's been released to the press, trying not to scare the public…"

"And you still haven't found anything that would give this guy motive to kill all these innocent people?" Jordan questioned.

"If we did Jordan, I'd still be down at the station," he declared, finishing his drink.

"Then maybe the public have the right to know."

"Maybe," Woody shrugged indifferently. "But it's my job to protect the public."

"You're a great detective Woody," Jordan stated, running her hand up his arm in reassurance.

A long awkward moment passed between the two of them. Strange, they both had so much to say, yet neither could even open their mouths. They sat in the silence, comfortable with the fact that they could, uncomfortable with the fact that they did.

"Jordan," Woody was the first to take the plunge.

"Hmm?" she responded, whipping her head around to face him.

"Jordan," he repeated. "We can't keep doing this to ourselves."

"Woody, I know you came over here to talk, but—"

"If we don't do this now Jordan, when are we going to? I don't want this to go ignored and ruin our friendship together."

"Woody, continuing what ever it is that we're doing, _that_ could ruin the friendship." she said.

"Jordan," Woody sighed her name this time. "I'm willing to take a chance for that. At least it will have been worth something, rather than nothing."

Another moment of silence fell upon them.

"Listen," he continued. "I know that you're scared, to love me or to hurt me, or whatever. But, I _promise _you Jordan, I won't let that happen. I love you too much to let that happen. And I know that this might seem sudden, but God Jordan, when I first met you I knew that there was something special about you. To even be part of that—of you—felt like the best thing in the world. I love you, I love you Jordan."

Jordan's eyes began to fill with tears, and Woody was unsure if that was a good sign or bad sign. Sometimes Jordan made it so hard to tell. She guarded her emotions so much, that even when they did spill over, you never knew what to think. Whether she was happy or sad or angry. Deciding that it didn't matter, Woody slowly wiped away the few tears that had fallen with the pad of this thumb. She seemed to jump slightly at his touch, but soon relaxed.

Moving his hand to cradle her cheek, Woody leaned in and let his lips softly brush hers. She responded, at first, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him back just as passionately as he was kissing her. But then she pulled away.

"Woody I…" a stifled sob caught the back of her throat. "I can't do this."

"What?" a startled Woody asked.

"I can't," Jordan said again.

"Can't or won't Jordan?" Woody questioned, an angry edge to his voice.

"Can't," she stressed. "I can't love you."

"Fine…" Woody muttered. He stood up abruptly and began to leave.

"Woody wait!" Jordan called out.

Woody turned around, a look of hurt stamped on his handsome features. His hand rested on the end of the door, his legs ready to bolt.

"I'm…I'm sorry," she offered.

"Me too Jordan," he replied, walking out the door.

Jordan ran her hands through her hair and willed herself not to cry. It was no use. The tears began to stream down her face as much as she begged them not to. She rubbed her eyes with the front of her shirt and crawled into bed. It was going to be another long and sleepless night.


	3. Between the Seams

Disclaimer: You know the spiel, I know the spiel. Let's leave it at that.

AN: Seems like I keep getting more dissatisfied with my chapters, as I'm not feeling this one too much, but I figured I owed you guys something and forced myself to write this one out. It was written over a long period of time (hence the not posting) so if it seems sort of muttled that's why.

**Also, any forensic "stuff" I was too lazy/busy to confirm so I took a huge chunk of artistic license with all of that.**

JillHenny- First off, dig the name! Second, glad you liked it : )

NCCJFan- Oodles of thanks!

jtbwriter- LOL, if Jordan's not getting Woody (gosh I love that Jerry) I'd Mary Sue myself in! Hehe, but somehow I don't think I'll go in that direction ; )

E- Thanks! And it's not soon, but it's here and continued!

britt- Aww, thank you. Awesome that you like the way I write the characters, I always worry about that.

**Alrighty, enough of all this stuff! Story below, enjoy!**

"You look like hell Jordan," Lily observed as they walked down the hall of the morgue.

"Thanks Lily," Jordan replied sarcastically, with a roll of her eyes. She wasn't sure why she took any offense, because she probably did look like hell. Her hair was pulled into a rough, low ponytail, she had dark circles under her eyes, and instead of her usual attire Jordan had on a pair of ripped, old jeans, a rumpled shirt and sneakers. It had been just over a week since her disastrous talk with Woody and sleep was getting lower on the priority scale.

"Oh, no," the young woman quickly blushed a red almost the same color as her hair. "I didn't mean it like that. You just look…tired"

"It's okay," Jordan assured her. "Might have to do with the fact that I've been awake for what seem like all this month."

"Jordan," Lily almost scolded.

"I've just been having trouble sleeping this past while that's all," she shrugged.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lily asked cautiously. Lily was, after all, the grief counselor at the morgue. She could probably help if Jordan had something on her mind. On the other hand, Jordan was never one to open up about her feelings and she wasn't in need of comfort over a lost loved one.

"Yeah, maybe," Jordan nodded as they walked past Lily's office. Lily stopped slightly at Jordan's words.

"Alright," Lily nodded as well. "How about now? I'm free."

"Uh, you know I was thinking more like later," Jordan said.

"Listen, Jordan, if you don't want to, I understand," Lily placed a sympathetic hand on her friend's shoulder.

Jordan was about to offer her thanks, when Bug and Garret came bounding down the hallway, yelling and both of them almost colliding with Lily. She kind of smiled and moved out of their way, Bug apologizing, Garret still shouting whatever it was that had distracted them in the first place.

"Bug, I don't have time for this right now," a frustrated Garret explained. "Walcott is still—"

"All over your ass, I know," Bug let out sigh and rubbed his hand along his forehead. Apparently Garret had made that fact very clear to _everyone_. If Jordan hadn't been so tired she would have pointed out the extremely laughable double entendre of Renee Walcott having anything to do with Garret's ass, let alone being all over it.

"Look, just get over to the sight, Detective Hoyt is waiting for you," Garret ordered.

"Detective Hoyt?" Jordan interrupted. "Why didn't he—"

"He asked specifically for Bug," he told her.

"Oh," Jordan answered with a hint of defeat in her voice.

Bug cast an annoyed glance at Garret before heading towards the elevator. Garret ignored the look, one he was getting from most of his employees these past few days, and turned back to Jordan.

"Jordan, whatever you and Detective Hoyt have on the side, I don't want it to interfere with your work," Dr. Macy said firmly.

"Of course not Garret," she replied quickly. "In fact Detective Hoyt and I have a completely professional relationship."

"Yeah, and I'm the Pope," he stated. "Just whatever it is, fix it."

"Consider it fixed," Jordan mumbled.

"Good," Garret smirked and resumed down the hall.

"So, what do we have?" Bug asked, ducking under the police caution tape that had marked off the door. He pulled on the latex gloves with a slap against his skin and awaited Woody's answer.

"Male, twenty-five, fits the pattern," Woody told the ME as he lifted the thin sheet that covered the victim. "I assume you're familiar with the other cases."

"Peter filled me in before he left, I'm taking most of his slack," Bug explained to Woody who only solemnly nodded. "Woody, if you don't mind me asking, was there a particular reason that you specifically wanted me on the sight?"

"Bug," Woody knit his eyebrows together in confusion. "You just said yourself that you're picking up Peter's cases, who else would I ask for?"

Bug shrugged and began to take fingernail scrapings from the victim, who an Officer Walker had just identified as Jason Collins.

"I just thought that maybe you'd ask for Jordan," he said after a moment of silence. "She was telling Nigel the other day that you'd gone over this whole 'Slash and Dash Killer' thing with her."

"Can you pinpoint time of death?" Woody questioned; ignoring what Bug had just told him.

"Nothing for certain, but if I had to wager a guess I'd say sometime between eight and ten this morning," he estimated.

"Good," Woody quickly scribbled down some notes.

"So this would be number eight then, would it?" Bug asked with a slight frown.

Woody's lips immediately drew into a firm, tight line.

"Unfortunately," he remarked. Shaking his head, Woody muttered, "He'll slip up, sooner or later I'll catch this bastard."

"Copycat, he didn't do it," Jordan stated.

"Jordan," Bug sighed.

Jordan had burst into the crypt and announced to Bug that she would be assisting him with the autopsy. Bug had tried to dissuade her, but figured there was no use and gave up. When Jordan set her mind to something it was either let her have her way or end up on the slab yourself.

"No, look," Jordan pointed to the victim's neck. It wasn't completely severed and she ran her gloved finger along the wound. "See that?"

"See what?" Bug leaned in closer. "I'll be damned," he whispered.

"Serrated edge," she ran her finger in the opposite direction. "Now why after seven victims, all the same MO, would he suddenly use a serrated knife?"

"And why would he hesitate?" Bug inquired as he showed Jordan the left side of the victim's neck. "It took him awhile to break the skin on this side, see those nicks?"

"Copycat," Jordan repeated.

"What's this?" Bug again indicated to the gaping neck wound, from which he extracted a small hair.

"That's what we call evidence," Jordan said with a smile.

"I'll get Nigel to run a screen on this," he told her.

No sooner had the words left Bug's mouth than Nigel appeared at the door.

"Are my ears burning?" he inquired with a large grin. "Just what little fun chore did you two drudge up for little ole' me?"

Jordan handed him the bagged piece of evidence. "Need you to find out who's the owner of this."

"That all?" Nigel's voice fell slightly. "And here I was ready for a challenge."

"Maybe next time Nige," Jordan shrugged as her and Bug continued to examine the body.

"The real challenge seems to be in catching this guy," Bug remarked.

Nigel nodded to Bug, in a manner that suggested he knew all too well, and left to run the screen.

"Except now we might be looking for two guys," Jordan shook her head.

"How old do these bruises look to you Bug?" she questioned, her hand skimming along the victim's arm. The flesh was a deep purple, consistent with an open palm and splayed fingers.

"Fairly recent, think they're defensive wounds?" Bug too, inspected the marks.

"Maybe," she answered uncertainly. "A lot of this just isn't adding up."

Jordan sat behind her desk, desperately trying to finish up some last minute paperwork. It should have been done this morning, but Jordan was never one for doing anything when she was supposed to, a habit that most people around her found particularly irksome.

"How goes the paperwork?" Nigel asked from the doorway, Bug in tow.

"It's not. Going that is," she rolled her eyes. She walked over to them and glanced quickly at the file folder that Nigel held in his hand. "So, what did you find out?"

"Your hair belongs to a Jack Deacon Kelly," Nigel informed the two MEs standing in front of him. "Sound familiar?"

"Vaguely," Jordan admitted.

"Well it should love," Nigel said with a half grin. "Jack Kelly is the intrepid reporter whose name appears in the byline of a rather controversial story that was splashed on the front page of the paper last Tuesday."

"The one who got all those inside reports?" Bug asked, his arms folded tightly across in chest.

"The one and only," Nigel answered in a satisfied tone. "I did a little digging and poking around on this guy. He's only twenty-four, still wet behind the ears, was a cub reporter up until last year. Seems like this story on the 'Slash and Dash' was a big break for Kelly. The ink wasn't even dry on the pages and Kelly had more offers than he could count."

"For what?" Jordan's forehead crinkled in thought.

"You name it," Nigel opened the folder and taking out some of the contents. "Talk shows, big name magazines. But, he's also been on a close watch list of our very own Boston PD."

"If the cops had their eye on him, why would he go anywhere near the crime scene?" Bug scratched his head.

"Better question, why did they have their eye on him?" Jordan questioned.

"Well, no one knows yet just how Kelly got his hands on all the inside information in the first place," Nigel frowned. "He had some very confidential police files, stuff I'd have pickle getting."

"The plot thickens," Jordan sighed.

"We'll grab this guy for questioning tomorrow morning," Woody tiredly said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "Thanks Bug."

Woody disconnected from Bug and slammed the phone back on its cradle. This week just kept going downhill, from bad to worse. Rubbing his eyes again, Woody tried to focus on the report in his hand. He was so sick of this stupid 'Slash and Dash Killer' case. Never in his life had he been more frustrated. It was his first instance in dealing with a true serial killer and from what Bug had just told him, it looked as though it was about to get a hell of lot more complicated than it already was.

And then there was the Jordan problem. Which, in Woody's mind, shouldn't even be a problem. He hadn't spoken to her since that night, and he was planning on keeping on it that way for awhile. Woody decided that for the moment he had enough trouble with this frustrating case never mind a frustrating woman. But, of course it wasn't as easy as that.

"Hey Croft," Woody called out.

The young cop turned to look at Detective Hoyt, who was almost hidden by the mounds of files and paperwork.

"Yes Detective?" Croft responded.

"I'm stepping out," Woody said in a mumbled rush. "Reach me on my cell. I want to be informed of any updates on the Collins case. Everything goes through me first, got that?"

"Yes sir," he replied.

Woody grabbed his suit jacket and flung open the station doors. Hopping into his car, without a destination in mind, Woody wondered if maybe Jordan was right all along with this running thing. He had to admit it was starting to sound appealing. Taking off into the night, not even worrying about he consequences. And although Woody knew that he probably never would run, the thought still lingered and it was somewhat comforting.

As if Jordan wasn't sleep deprived enough already, she now had two things keeping her awake. The first was the case. Although officially she was never really on the case Jordan still felt a certain tie to it and it was nagging her until no end. The second was Woody. Woody and that perfect smile, the one that slide silkily into her thoughts the moment she closed her eyes. It was enough to drive her batty.

But it was just Woody's face that kept her awake tonight. It was what he had said. And those words haunted her more than she ever thought possible.

"To even be part of that—of you—felt like the best thing in the world. I love you, I love you Jordan."

He loved her.


	4. In the Meantime

**Disclaimer:** Wish I did, but I don't. So that's that.

**AN:** Sorry it took so long to get another chapter up, but life decided to take its toll. Then I got lazy. Then life, and then I got lazy again. So finally sat my butt down and wrote some stuff, which I'm going to call 'Chapter 4.' Oh, and sorry for the shortness of this one, but anymore and I would have been reaching for material.

First off, some thanks to all of you who take time to review…

**NCCJFAN-** I too like 'old Woody'. Then again, I'm fine with any version of Woody, but pre-season three/four is definitely my favourite. Although I kind of like when Woody cracks down on criminals…so I added a bit of that into this chapter.

**JillyHenny-** Thanks! Oh, and I'll be changing the format thing, because I realize that it is kind of difficult to read. Looked fine in Word and I just haven't made the amendments to make it look the same onjtbwriter- Thank you, glad you find it enjoyable : )

**Iara- **Thanks, keep on reading!

**Agel15-** Thank you. 'Old Woody's' personality is much better than 'new Woody', IMO. (Easier to write for too, LOL)

**AndreaB-** It's good that you liked it! Thanks.

**SarahLucey**- Many thanks for the compliments. And I won't spoil the ending, but I'll try to make them end up together ASAP ; )

**Moonlight01-** LOL, don't worry I won't make her cry _too _much.

**FrenchKissingWoody-** Written and now posted : ) Oh, and I dig the name!

**And on with the story! Enjoy!**

"You want to tell me how we found your hair on the victim's body?" Woody leaned over the worn wooden table, his palms pressed hard against the surface.

As he told Bug on the phone the night before, they had picked up Jack Kelly for questioning immediately. Woody had been in the interrogation room for about an hour with an increasingly nervous Kelly. Although twenty-four, Kelly looked all of about fifteen. A sparse amount of facial hair covered his chin and his brown eyes darted about endlessly.

"I already told you that I don't know," the young man fidgeted in his seat.

"Let's try a different approach," Woody took a seat opposite Kelly. "I don't care if you _want _to tell me or not. You're going to."

"How can I tell you something I don't know?" Kelly removed the beat-up baseball cap that he wore and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"You a little scared Kelly?" Woody asked. "I'd be scared if I were you. I mean, we find evidence that links you to the eighth body in a prominent serial killer case. Actually, in a case where you've reported on all the seven other deaths. In fact, you got your hands on some pretty classified information, didn't you?"

"Yes," was the quiet reply.

"And Boston PD was investigating you because of that, weren't they?" Woody questioned, rising to his feet.

"Yes," he said once more. "But I swear that I don't know anything else. I don't know how that hair got there. Nothing."

"So, how about you tell me what you do know," Woody suggested.

"Somebody sent me that information. I don't know who, I don't know why. It was delivered to the office in a plain envelope, signed 'a friend', I'm not even sure it was for me," Kelly confessed.

"And your first thought was to use that information to your own advantage and not to give it to the police?" Woody's arms crossed against his chest.

"Listen," Kelly began, licking his lips, "you usually get one shot at making it big. And I thought this was mine. So I took it."

"Looks like you got a little more than you bargained for," Woody smirked.

"Honestly, I don't know anything. I swear," he said.

The door of the interrogation room burst open and shut with a loud slap. A thin man with thick rimmed glasses and dressed in a stiff suit stood in front of Kelly. The briefcase he held, slammed down on the table.

"Please don't ask my client any further questions as he's not inclined to answer them," the man snapped.

"And just who are you?" Woody asked.

"Ian Tracy," he answered, adjusting the bridge of his glasses and handing Woody a business card. "Mr. Kelly's attorney. You have no reason to hold my client."

"We have evidence that—" Woody began.

"You have nothing," Mr. Tracy told him. He grabbed Kelly by the arm and scooped up his briefcase. "Come on JD, we're leaving."

"I had nothing to do with this," Kelly informed his lawyer, trying to prove his innocence to the one person it probably didn't matter too much to.

"I said, we're leaving," Tracy repeated. "I trust I won't be seeing you again Officer Hoyt."

"Detective," Woody growled as the door once again shut with a slap.

xxxxxxx

Jordan walked into the break room looking for either Nigel or Bug, hoping to get an update on the case that had kept her up most of the night…again. She found both of them sitting at the table, eating lunch and in the middle of what appeared on the surface to be a serious conversation, but in reality was anything but.

"It was Spot, really?" Nigel asked in slight disbelief.

"Uncreative, but I think they were going for the ironic comic angle," Bug shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Do I want to know?" Jordan questioned.

"Ta Monthers," Bug replied with his mouth full.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"The Munsters," Nigel, whose mouth was not full, supplied for the confused Jordan.

"The pet dragon's name was Spot," Bug explained.

"Of course," Jordan nodded. "Anyway, back to normal life, any updates on the 'Slash and Dash'?"

"Detective Hoyt is questioning Jack Kelly this morning," Bug replied and shrugged once more.

"He hasn't called you or anything?" she asked.

"Jordan, love, just what happened between you and Woodrow that you've resorted to pumping Buggles here for information?" Nigel's brows shot up like question marks.

"Nothing," Jordan dismissed.

"If you say so," Bug answered.

"Hey, private lives are supposed to remain private, alright?" Jordan said, taking a seat at the small round table.

"Aha!" Nigel stated triumphantly. "So something did happen."

"I didn't say that," Jordan sighed.

"Not in so many words," Nigel countered. "But, sometimes words are overrated. Don't you think love?"

"Drop it, okay Nige?" she told him, grabbing his can of cola and taking a sip.

"Struck a nerve did I?" Nigel smiled brightly as he always did after any sort of victory, no matter how small.

"No. I happen to have an interest in this case. As I should. Just like everyone else in the morgue," Jordan continued to drink Nigel's cola. "With a serial killer, everyone needs to pull together."

"Your name is Jordan Cavanaugh, you're a medical examiner in Boston," Nigel spoke slowly and deliberately.

"What?" Jordan asked an even more confused look stamped on her face than a few minutes ago.

"It's okay, I've stopped even questioning Nigel. Hurts the brain, you know," Bug said.

"Sorry Jordan, but after that little speech, I wasn't sure if you knew who you were. Thought it might be wise to remind you," Nigel explained with a smirk.

"Very funny," she responded, while pulling a face. Jordan stood from the table and tossed the now empty can in the trashcan. "Let me know if Woody calls."

"He's supposed to drop by if there's anything new, or if Kelly fesses up," Bug informed her, as she was about to leave. She sat back down instead.

"What makes you think that Kelly has something to confess?" Nigel asked.

"Oh come on," Bug lamented, waving his sandwich half in the air. "The kid goes from Jimmy Olsen to Clark Kent in the span of a week. Fame, there's your motive. He kills them then he writes about it. Give me a break, the guy is as guilty as sin."

"Interesting theory. But, Jimmy Olsen was never a reporter, he was a photographer. And Lois Lane was a way better journalist than Clark, better legs too," a voice announced to the ME's from the doorway.

All eyes looked up at Woody, whose hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his pants, a sort of half grin on his lips. It almost faded as his eyes landed upon Jordan's face. So much for avoidance.

"Look who's the Superman aficionado," Nigel commented.

"Comics were my haven," Woody admitted quickly, before getting down to business. "And right now I'd give my left arm to have the man in tights solve this one. I've got nothing on my end. I'm counting on you guys."

"What do you mean you have nothing?" Bug's forehead crinkled as he asked the question. "I thought you picked up Jack Kelly this morning."

"I did, except his high priced lawyer, Ian Tracy, crashed our little party. We need more evidence on the guy to tie him to the murders. Truthfully, I'm not sure what part he plays in this exactly."

"How would Kelly get a high priced lawyer?" Nigel inquired. "I thought he was nothing before the 'Slash and Dash Killer' story broke. Where would he get that kind of money?"

"Maybe from all those offers he had," Bug suggested. "Larry King isn't cheap."

"No, Kelly didn't do the talk show circuit. Or the magazine interviews," Nigel interjected.

"Luck?" Bug guessed.

"It was almost as if Tracy knew Kelly," Woody recalled the way that Tracy had talked to Kelly, as if scolding a child. Reprimanding him, grabbing his arm and calling him 'JD'.

"What, like on a personal level?" Bug asked.

"Keep digging around here guys, I want anything and everything on this case. Whatever scrap of evidence, information, whatever, no matter how insignificant," Woody instructed. "I'm going to look into Mr. Tracy."

Woody dashed out of the room, but slowed as he heard the clicking of footsteps behind him.

"Woody," Jordan placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Jordan," he sighed.

"Woody, we need to talk," she told him.

"I think you made everything pretty clear," Woody said with a hint of sadness.

"I'm sorry," Jordan repeated the words.

"I know, but I don't need an apology Jordan, I need space."

"Space," she echoed. "I can do that."

"I really need time to sort out whatever is going on between us. Or lack thereof," Woody said, his voice falling a bit.

"Right, of course," Jordan replied.

"I still love you Jordan, but I have to figure out just what that means."

Woody sort of shrugged, and began to walk away. He got to the elevators at the end of the hall; Jordan's feet still firmly in place from where they had just stood. Turning slightly Woody called over his shoulder. "Maybe you should do the same thing."


	5. Sleeping Stars

**Disclaimer: **After much negotiating with Tim Kring we decided that it was him and _not _me that actually owns _Crossing __Jordan. _What a bummer, huh?

**AN: **Wow, can you believe that I actually updated? I bet you thought I forgot that I even had a fic on here. Well, apparently I do. This chapter's a little longer than the rest, so that makes up for its inexplicable tardiness. And the end of the chapter is a tad sappy, but I figured I was due for a small amount of sap. Uh…that might be all for the note then. Quick replies for the reviews after the chapter!

**Enjoy!**

Jordan sat in her office, her chin cradled in her palm, her other hand rapidly drumming a pen against her desk. She stared at the autopsy reports in front of her, all stacked neatly in piles. Jordan had given up on work about half an hour ago when she had decided it was simply impossible to catch up on her own and began to formulate a plan to dump some of the mess on Nigel.

She hadn't seen Woody in a week or so, since their last disastrous conversation. He was too busy with the 'Slash and Dash' case, which for the moment had seemed to subside. But Jordan knew from around the office that he was spending all hours of the night at the station. The morgue had been somewhat crazy too. Between everyone pulling their weight with the serial killer case and a bus that had crashed just outside of Boston, producing several casualties, it was a pretty hectic and chaotic few days. Hence the mounds of paperwork.

The sudden buzz of her cellular phone vibrating at Jordan's hip caused her to jump. And the pen, an old fashioned fountain pen that her father had purchased for her, slipped from her fingers and sent ink spraying in all directions. Jordan made a desperate jerk for her phone before the caller hung up, but it too dropped from her hand and landed under her desk with a small thud.

"Shit," she mumbled under her breath.

She grabbed a handful of tissues and began to furiously blot at the now growing stain on her white shirt. Realizing she was doing more harm than good, Jordan threw the tissues into the wastebasket and heaved a sigh.

"Dr. Cavanaugh?" Emmy poked her head through the doorway, her own ever-present heap of paperwork in her arms.

"Huh? Oh, hey Emmy," Jordan greeted in an absent manner.

"Dr. C, Dr. Macy would like to see you in his office," she told her in rush. Emmy usually spoke in hurried, clipped sentences. She just had too much to do and she wasn't going to waste her time on talking. Or lingering after the fact, as soon as she'd said her piece, Emmy scurried down the hall.

"Great," Jordan ran her fingers through her hair and made her way to Garret's office. She hoped to God that all he wanted to know was if she had any updates one of her cases. Or maybe if she was incredibly lucky, he was calling her to his office to invite her to a drink after work. She could really use a drink.

"Wanted to see me boss?" she announced stepping into the room and taking a seat in front of his desk. Jordan always had a familiar feeling of being sent to the principal's office whenever Garret needed to talk with her.

"Jordan, remember a few of weeks ago, when I had asked you if something was wrong?" he questioned, leaning back in his chair, his fingers laced behind his neck.

"Yeah, sure," Jordan nodded.

"And then you proceeded to tell me that there wasn't," he continued, leaning further back.

"Where you going with this Garret?" she cocked her head to one side.

"Jordan, what did Mrs. Rhodes die of?" Garret inquired, his chair snapping forward as he grabbed a file from his desk.

"Mrs. Rhodes? Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis, she was waiting for a liver transplant and never received one," Jordan answered, curiously.

"So you do know the cause of death?" he clucked his tongue and handed her the file that he was looking at. "I thought I would check, seeing as how you didn't fill that out in your preliminary report."

"What?" she exclaimed and scanned the sheet of paper in front of her. It was mostly blank and the cause of death was indeed missing from the report. "I…uh…"

"Jordan, you're one of, if not my best, ME. But lately you're behavior…" Garret sighed. "If you don't want to talk to me about, maybe you should see Dr. Stiles."

"Garret," Jordan waved her hand. "I told you I was fine. I don't need Stiles' professional opinion telling me otherwise."

"I'm not trying to give you cajoling advice as a friend here, I'm telling you as your boss, if things don't change…" he shook his head. "Listen Jordan, I know you've had problems before and you let it affect your work."

"Wow, that's some compassion you got there," Jordan smirked.

"I _am _concerned about you Jordan. But it's hard being your friend and your boss at the same time. Sometimes it just doesn't work that way," he told her. "If there is something that's bothering you, tell me and we can work something out."

"It's really more of a personal thing Garret," she replied, wiping her palms on the front of her pants.

"Then if you don't want to talk to me or Stiles, talk to Lily. Or Nigel or Bug. Just talk to somebody Jordan. You can't continue on like this. I've seen first hand what happens when you bottle up your emotions Jordan. They all spill out at once and you end up doing things you regret."

Garret walked out from behind his desk and took a seat in the chair next to Jordan. He adjusted it so he was facing her and rested his elbows on his knees.

"It's been a long while since I've seen you like this Jordan," he remarked sadly. "Are you sleeping well? Last week you looked pretty run down, and I know you used to have those nightmares…"

"Are you gunning for Howard's job?" she eyed him critically. "Because right now I feel like I should be lying down on the couch telling you my darkest secrets. I thought you'd know by now that I don't do well when provoked."

"Come on Jordan, it's not a sign of weakness to accept help from people who care about you," Garret said.

"I've heard the speech before Garret, and trust me when I tell you that I can work this one out on my own."

"Jordan do you ever just listen to anyone? I'm saying that I'm worried about you and I'm trying my best to help here," he told her, a slight amount of anger laced in his voice.

"Yeah, but as my boss or my friend Garret?" Jordan sneered and stood from her seat.

"Jordan, don't," Garret replied, exasperatedly.

"Maybe it's not hard being both at the same time, but favoring one over the other," she suggested with a shrug.

They watched each other silently for awhile, before Jordan ran a tired hand across her forehead and shrugged once more. She took a step towards where he sat, perhaps making her way over to apologize, then decided against it and turned on her heel, out the door. Jordan walked briskly back to her office, thinking Garret just might chase after her. They were both horribly stubborn people and butted heads more than either of them liked.

It took all of Jordan's willpower not to slam the door behind her. Reminding herself that her and Garret never fought for long and that she still needed to find some way to rope Nigel into taking at least half of her reports, she shut it gently behind her and flung herself into her seat.

She began rearranging her desk and practiced a plea in her head that might make her British friend just sympathetic enough to her cause to lend her a hand. The sudden knocking on her door interrupted Jordan's thought process of whether it was necessary to add two or three "Please Nigel's" to further aid her.

"If you're Garret, I don't want to hear it!" she called out sternly.

"Not Garret," Lily said, poking her head through the door. "Does that mean I'm welcome?"

"Sure, Lily," Jordan's face somewhat softened.

"What happened to your shirt?" the redhead gasped.

"Oh this?" Jordan tugged at the front of her shirt. "I call this icing on the cake."

"Then I'm not even going to ask," Lily shook her head.

"Thank you," Jordan mouthed.

"So where've you been? I stopped by here a few minutes ago, but you were nowhere to be seen. Thought maybe you'd fled the ever growing pile of paperwork," she smirked and perched atop Jordan's desk.

"Contrary to what I've heard people say around the water cooler, I don't in fact live in my office," she told her smartly. "Besides, why didn't you try my cell phone…"

Jordan barely finished her sentence when her eyes flew to the floor under her desk, where her phone rested in two pieces at her feet.

"I did," Lily said, "Except I couldn't get through."

"Figures," Jordan murmured, picking up the case, as well as the battery, which had popped out.

"My guess would have something to with that," Lily pointed to the dismantled phone.

"Mine too," she said. "So, what's the big crisis?"

"Crisis?" Lily inquired, her forehead creasing as she asked the question.

"Well, yeah. What did you need me for?" Jordan asked, sliding the battery back on.

"Nothing really, just thought I'd check up on you," she gave Jordan a smile that verged on sympathetic.

"When did I become the resident charity case?" Jordan mused, almost to herself.

"Well, now that I see you're still the same old Jordan, anger a-blazing, what do you say we grab a drink in a few?" Lily offered, her grin now reaching her cheeks.

"I'd say you read my mind Lily," Jordan sighed as her eyes landed on the stacks of files on her desk and then glanced upwards to meet Lily who was seated among said files.

"Forget paperwork!" she exclaimed defiantly, hopping off the desk and making a grab for Jordan's hand in the process.

"You know Lily, I always liked you," Jordan said with a grin of her own.

Both girls walked out of Jordan's office, coats in hand, determined to have at least one night of something that resembled fun. If they even remembered what that was.

"Where are you two heading?" Nigel asked, strolling towards them.

"Lily and I are taking the night off," Jordan replied, decidedly with a nod of her head.

"And no one thought to ask me?" he placed his hands over his heart, his best wounded expression gracing his face.

"Sad to say Nige, but it looks like you've got a lot of paperwork to do," Jordan hinted heavily to the mounds of paperwork on her desk, almost visible from where they stood.

"Oh, no," Nigel shook his head. "I don't think so Jordan. Not this time."

"Please Nigel?" she asked, her hands covering his.

"Sorry love," he apologized with a smile. "You would not believe what Dr. M has me doing already. That and the added stuff Woody has me working on, and I'm completely swamped. I barely have enough time for my work."

"Don't worry about it Jordan," Lily shrugged. "Papers will still be there in the morning."

"What does Woody have you doing?" Jordan questioned, sidestepping Lily.

"Secret," Nigel whispered with a mischievous smirk. "Now you two go play."

Jordan stood there for a moment as Nigel returned to his work, a slightly bewildered look across her features before Lily tugged at her arm, leading her towards the elevator.

"Uh, Lily you go ahead," Jordan said and gestured to her shirt. "I've got to go home and change, I'll meet you there."

"Okay," Lily reluctantly agreed. "But if you're not there, make no mistake, I will send out a search party."

"I'll be there," she assured her friend.

xxx

Jordan did hurry home to change and made it to the bar in record time. She prided herself on being able to keep a promise for once in her life and stepped out of her car into the alley leading towards the back entrance. Jordan didn't make it a few feet when a small, but rough hand, clamped down on her shoulder.

"Look buddy," she started, turning around.

The man stared back at her with an almost frightened look and removed his hand slowly.

"I don't want any trouble lady," he said quietly. "Really I don't. I just need a favor."

"A favor?" Jordan scoffed. "Like what?"

"You're an ME right? I saw you come out of the building. Do you work there?" he asked, nervously wringing his hands together.

"Yeah," she answered hesitantly. He looked somewhat familiar, but in the dark she couldn't make out his face clearly.

"I wasn't watching you or anything, I'm not a stalker. I just thought if I could get somebody to listen to me. To help me out…"

"You're Jack Kelly aren't you?" Jordan asked.

"I need your help," was the low reply. "I didn't do it. I didn't kill all those people."

"And what makes you think that I'll help you?" she questioned, her eyebrows raising as she spoke.

"I-I don't know. You don't have a reason to really," Kelly admitted. "Look, you don't have to, but I just…I need someone to listen to me."

"Exactly what do you want me to do?"

Kelly pulled a thick manila envelope from beneath his worn out jacket, his hands shaking as he handed it to her. He removed his baseball cap and scratched his head before shoving them deep in the pockets of his jeans.

"What's this?" she asked, weighing the contents in her palm.

"It's not mine, I swear it isn't. That's all the information on the murders. All that 'Slash and Dash' stuff, it was left for me, for somebody, and it has everything. I told that detective guy about it. He said something about turning it over to the police, my lawyer told me that they could get a warrant…" he paused and for a moment Jordan thought he might cry.

"You know that I'm a medical examiner right? It's different than the police, I'm not sure what you want me to do with this," Jordan swung the envelope lightly.

"Can't you gather evidence or something from it? I just…" Kelly stopped again. "I don't want to end up there. I need proof that it wasn't me. I just wrote a-about it. I wasn't me."

"I'll see what I can do," she offered.

"Please don't tell anyone, I'm in enough trouble," he pleaded.

"I won't," she said.

"Thank you. For everything," Kelly told her. He tipped his hat as he walked away, then his hand quickly went back into his pocket.

"Oh boy," Jordan breathed, looking down at the information that rested at her fingertips.

She slid her finger underneath the flap, and pulled out the first thing that she touched. It was a black and white photograph, who Jordan recognized as Ethan Gregory from the long night she spent absorbing every detail of the case with Woody. She was itching to spill out the contents right there in the back alley and root through the entire envelope, but Jordan knew that it probably wouldn't be one of her finer moments if she did. Instead she tucked it beneath her coat, jumped into her car and drove back to the morgue.

xxx

Woody sat behind desk reviewing the information that he had gathered on Ian Tracy, Jack Kelly's lawyer, during the past week. Unfortunately there wasn't much in the file that he held. Tracy was the Kelly family lawyer and had worked for them for a number of years. He played golf with Kelly's father every second Saturday and his wife went to bridge with Mrs. Kelly regularly. Besides the flash in the pan relationship that Tracy's daughter, Lorraine, had with Kelly when they were teenagers, nothing seemed terribly out of the ordinary.

He made a quick note in his messy scrawl to bring Lorraine Tracy in for a little chat the next day when his phone rang.

"This is Hoyt," he answered.

"Woody, it's Lily," he heard Lily's voice cut in and out of the static.

"Lily?" he plugged one ear with his finger and pressed the receiver closer to his other one. "I can barely hear you."

"I can't find Jordan," she answered. "She said she'd meet me at O'Shaughnessy's. And she's not here."

"She said that she'd meet you there?" Woody questioned, an uneasy feeling coming over him.

"Yeah, that was an hour ago," Lily's voice echoed the panicked sentiment that Woody's just had. "I didn't know who else to call. I'm really—"

The phone cut off in the middle of her sentence and Woody was met with silence.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered as he hung up the phone. He quickly grabbed his jacket and headed out of the precinct. "Christ Jordan," Woody said to himself.

He got into his car and haphazardly pulled out of the space, speeding around the corner. Woody decided that starting around O'Shaughnessy's would be best if he wanted to find Jordan, but his mind kept flashing to her dead in the gutter somewhere. Not that she couldn't take care of herself, he knew that Jordan was more than capable, but the thought plagued him nonetheless. His phone rang again, and Woody swerved as he made a quick grab for it.

"Lily?" he asked.

"No, it's Nigel," came the voice from the other end. "And here I thought you only had eyes for our Jordan, playing the field a bit Woodrow?"

"Nige, I don't have time for this. Lily called me a couple of minutes ago and said that Jordan's missing. She was supposed to meet Lily and she didn't," Woody informed him.

"Jordan's not missing," Nigel said with a surprised tone. "She's here."

"What the hell is she doing there?" Woody demanded.

"I don't know. She went straight into her office," Nigel shrugged, even though Woody obviously couldn't see him. "She seemed a little worried about being behind on some reports before she left, figured she came back to finish them off."

"Look, I'm coming over there. Can you call Lily and tell her that Jordan is alright?" Woody asked.

"Sure thing mate," Nigel replied.

xxx

Woody tapped his foot impatiently the entire elevator ride, drowning out the music that happily played out of tune. His hands were clenched in fists and shoved deep in the pockets of his coat. He just couldn't believe that Jordan would do something so stupid. Actually he could, but it bothered him still. The doors of the elevator swung open and Woody raced down the hall.

"Where is she?" he asked Nigel, who merely pointed to her office, with a slightly apprehensive look.

Woody didn't even bother knocking, but instead threw back her office door and began his tirade.

"What were you thinking Jordan?" he shouted, his hands flying from his pockets and waving frantically.

Jordan's face twisted with confusion as she quickly tried to hide the contents of the envelope that Jack Kelly had entrusted her with earlier.

"Nice to see you too Woody," she told him with a shake of her head.

"Jordan you can't do stuff like that! Lily was worried sick—" he continued.

"Oh no. Lily," Jordan sighed.

"Jeez Jordan, there's some psycho serial killer on the loose and you go off doing God knows what, don't tell your friends where you are…"

"I…I'm sorry," she murmured.

"I don't want an apology Jordan—" Woody stopped. The conversation had taken an all too familiar turn.

"So, why are you here Woody?" Jordan questioned.

"Do you even have to ask?" he breathed slowly, crouching down next to her.

Jordan didn't know what to say. Thing had been way beyond complicated for them during the past few months, hell during the past few years. But as he knelt in front of her, his hands resting on her knees and his eyes full of worry, Jordan almost felt the only right thing to do in that moment was to kiss him. She didn't think about it, try to rationalize it, reason out the after affects or the consequences, because they didn't seem to matter. He loved her and right now _that _was the only thing that mattered. So she leaned forward, her fingers curling around his neck and placed a light kiss on his lips.

"No. I guess I don't," she answered.

**Jennifer: **Yay for hearing that's it's a story worth reading. And would you believe the Jillian Clare thing was coincidental? I was on a naming board of sorts that day and somebody had wanted to name their daughter that…so I stole it, 'cause most days I'm terribly uncreative.

**Elisabeth Carmichael: **Thanks! Okay, so they kissed at the end of this chapter, but don't look for it to be all neat and wrapped up in a bow. There'll be more turmoil, I mean it _is _Jordan and Woody.

**FrenchKissingWoody: **Hola! Major props to you for reviewing pretty much if not all chapters! You rock girl! Thanks for all the support.

**Moonbebe: **Well that was chapter five. Tell me if it was worth the wait :wink:

**l'ilmissnitpick: **Anyone else who even _knows _of The Tea Party is totally awesome in my book! And I love a good sticky situation also, hehe.


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